


With You

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, past death of a parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 04:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12183201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Who told you?”George laughs, not because Camilla broke first now, but because she always breaks first.  “You put it on twitter.”“Bittle.  That little shit,” Camilla says, and sets a mental note to rip that little doe-eyed baker a new one the next time they go out with Bits and Jack for lunch.George chuckles again, and shifts just a little closer.  “Cam...”





	With You

**Author's Note:**

> More George/Camilla because I missed @omgcpwomen week but I promised I would write at least ONE wlw fic for it (and like better late than never?) Also because I needed to vent some feels so I took it out on poor Camilla. I hope she forgives me.
> 
> warnings for mentions of grief, past death of a parent, troubled parent relationships.
> 
> All of these characters belong to the wonderful mind of Ngozi, who graciously lets us play round in her world <3

I've held your hand so many times  
But I still get the feeling I felt the very first time  
I've kissed your lips and laid with you  
And I cherish every moment we spend in each other's arms  
I guess my eyes can only see as far as you  
I only want to be with you 

~Prince

***

The door opens and Camilla resolutely keeps her gaze on the TV, which is on, but muted, captions scrolling lazily across the bottom probably only eighty percent accurate. But she doesn’t care. She’s not really paying attention to anything, doing her damndest to get the conversation with her mother out of her head.

Nothing’s working, but she’s not sure if it’s a relief or yet another pain in her already sore ass that her normally work-a-holic girlfriend decided that today of all days should be an early one.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees George lay her bag on the table, kick her shoes off at the door, and shrug away her suit jacket. She wore a skirt today, which normally Camilla loves. And okay, upset or not, she can’t help but take notice and appreciate the muscular and sharp lines of her girlfriend’s body. Camilla’s surprised she hasn’t had to beat more than just Tater back with a stick--though to be fair most of the guys on the team are already occupied so...

George bypasses the living room. She says nothing--no words of greeting means only one thing: she knows. Camilla hears the fridge open, and the soft hiss of one of George’s grapefruit fizzy drinks most likely. Camilla glances at the coffee table where her lukewarm beer sits and she thinks about gulping down half before she has to face this conversation.

She doesn’t do that.

She doesn’t do anything. Not even when George comes into the room and sits a cushion away from her, and puts her stockinged feet up on the edge of the table and curls her toes tightly.

“Who told you?”

George laughs, not because Camilla broke first now, but because she always breaks first. “You put it on twitter.”

“Bittle. That little shit,” Camilla says, and sets a mental note to rip that little doe-eyed baker a new one the next time they go out with Bits and Jack for lunch.

George chuckles again, and shifts just a little closer. “Cam...”

“Can we not do this right now?” Camilla snaps, sounding angrier than she is. None of this is George’s fault, and mostly her irritation is with herself for not listening to her girlfriend in the first damn place. “I really don’t have it in me to listen to an I told you so.”

“I wouldn’t,” George says, then stops herself because she would, because that’s who she is. But she also knows how to read the room--read her girlfriend--and she knows when Camilla’s in actual pain. Like right now. She sits forward and sets her drink down next to Camilla’s beer, and when she sits back up, there’s no space between them.

Camilla’s gaze darts down to where George’s skirt is hitched up along her leg and through the tights she can see the outline of her estrogen patch, a little frayed at the edges. Camilla touches it, then draws her hand in toward the inside of George’s thigh, and appreciates the way George readily spreads her legs.

“Do you want to fuck?” George asks bluntly. “Will that help?”

“No,” Camilla says. Her hand drifts up anyway, not all the way, but mostly. She feels the heat between George’s legs and it’s oddly comforting. “I mean, I always want to fuck you, but it’s not going to make things better.”

“Did you make the call or did you just answer it?” George asks.

“Does that matter?”

George hums. “Not really.”

Camilla tips her head back against the squashy sofa cushion and squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to see the echo of her mother’s pinched, disapproving face. “I answered. There’s still this piece of me that feels responsible, you know? Like...like I have to be there sometimes or she’s going to fall apart, and it’s all my fault.”

George’s hand reaches over and pushes up Camilla’s ratty old Falcs shirt that’s almost see-through from too many washes. She brushes the tips of her fingers round Camilla’s navel, then spreads her palm, warm and big, along the side of her ribs. “She isn’t alone. She has family with her, your brother’s with her. And she’s a grown woman. People die, babe...”

“I know,” Camilla says, her voice tense.

“At some point we just have to...deal.”

Camilla lets her head loll to the side, reaches out and plays with a few of the fine curls along George’s hairline that are never longer than a few inches. She lets them wrap round her finger before pulling her hand away. “If you died, I don’t think I’d ever be able to ‘just deal’.”

George laughs, shifts her hand lower, brushes along Camilla’s crotch only for a second, then hooks under her knee and pulls her closer. Camilla’s practically in her lap not, not that either of them seem to mind. “You would,” George says eventually. “You’re stronger than most people I know and you would.”

Camilla shakes her head, but she can’t say if George is right or wrong because she’s lost people before, but she’s also never loved anyone as hard as she loves George before. For a little while, the pain of her father’s death felt like it was going to literally drown her, but it got easier. It never got better, it was just a lighter burden to carry day in and day out.

She could breathe better now.

She can’t imagine it ever being easier if George was gone.

“I don’t want to talk about you dying,” she finally says. “And I know it’s stupid to feel responsible for my mother--I don’t...I mean I don’t really feel like it would be my fault. But I think if I didn’t answer and something happened...”

“I get it,” George says simply, because she does, and in that moment Camilla wants to cry with how utterly perfect she is.

It only takes a second for her to manoeuvre into George’s lap, straddling her thighs which are wonderfully thick and strong, and Camilla loves nothing more than holding them tight as George works her up and up until she’s nearly sobbing. She’s not sure that’s the thing she wants right now, though she doesn’t hate when George’s hand dips under the waistband of her leggings and cups her ass.

“It’s over, anyway,” Camilla says, because it is, even if the storm of her emotions hasn’t passed just yet. “I won’t have to talk to her for a while. She’ll feel all self-righteous and get to complain to my aunts about what a terrible, queer daughter I am who will never listen or be right with g-d. Who the fuck cares.”

“You care,” George says, with that sort of brutal honesty she’s got, then drags her in and kisses her. Their lips aren’t soft at first, tongues brushing together, it’s a little sloppy but exactly what Camilla needs. Just like it’s exactly what she needs when George slows it down, and puts both hands in her hair, and eases back, raining soft, gentle pecks at the corners of her mouth.

“Thank you,” Camilla murmurs, and pushes her face into the crook of her neck. She breaths in--it’s shaky and there’s a slight hitch where she’s trying to keep in the tears she’s saving for her long, solitary shower before bed. “Can we order Thai and watch some shitty 90s rom-coms?”

George laughs. “Yeah. I already have food on the way, actually.”

Camilla pulls back, wide-eyed and asking the question even though she already knows the answer. “How?”

George rolls her eyes, cups her cheek and brushes her thumb just under Camilla’s right eye. “Because I know you. And because I want to spoil you and make it feel better before tomorrow so I caan tell you how fucking much I told you so, and not feel guilty about it.”

Camilla nips at George’s bottom lip a little harder than normal, and catches George’s giggle in her mouth, and kisses her long, and slow, and a little filthy which is just a promise of later tonight. After food. After a good cry. After she’s been cleansed of this shitty feeling so she can properly enjoy the sex her body’s craving.

“I love you. You know that, right?” she asks as she pulls away.

George just rolls her eyes and grins. “Yeah, babe. I do.”


End file.
